


Talking

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Confessions [5]
Category: Soul Eater, Soul Eater Not!
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Kissing, Established Relationship, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1962636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Harvar should know better than to think he’s gonna away with it." When Ox says he and Harvar will talk about something, they always do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talking

Harvar should know better than to think he’s gonna away with it. It’s not Ox’s style to let something lie, especially when the meister has already declared that he  _won’t_  let this go. But Harvar has been doing his best to forget his accidental confession, has managed to convince himself that he  _has_  forgotten, and the topic doesn’t even flicker across his mind when the meister settles into the couch next to him and says, “Harvar,” like he has something Very Important to say.

“What?” Harvar says without looking up. He’s right in the middle of a game, he doesn’t want to fail this section  _again_ , and even Ox’s serious voice isn’t going to keep him from getting to the next save point.

“We need to talk.”

“Oh yeah,” Harvar scoffs. “That’s not foreboding at all. That’s so cliche, it’s like the number one thing to say to get someone to freak out. I’m just going to --”

“You said you loved me.”

Harvar’s hands freeze. The character sprite misses a jump, falls off the bottom of the screen and triggers the electronic failure tone, but his rising panic has nothing at all to do with the game.

“We  _are_  going to talk about it,” Ox says, and Harvar growls and shuts the game, tosses it to the floor so he can cross his arms over his chest.

“Right  _now_?”

“It’s been weeks,” Ox points out. He’s looking at Harvar, the weapon can feel his gaze burning against his skin, but Harvar is staring at the coffee table and nothing will convince him to look in the meister’s direction. “All I want to know is if you meant it.”

“ _No_ ,” Harvar growls, shoving to his feet so he can turn his back to the meister, hunch his shoulders in over himself.

“You didn’t mean it?”

“ _No_. I don’t want to  _talk_  about this.”

Harvar can  _feel_  Ox’s brow crease in confusion. “You didn’t mean it? Or you don’t want to talk about it? You’re not making sense.”

“What part of  _don’t want to talk about it_  isn’t getting through to you?” Harvar snaps, turning back around to face Ox. The meister has gotten to his feet while Harvar wasn’t paying attention; he’s  _much_  closer than Harvar expected, close enough that Harvar could reach out and touch his elbow if he wanted. Other than his proximity there’s nothing threatening about him; his arms are hanging limp at his sides, his wrists turned slightly up as if to demonstrate his lack of aggression, and when Harvar looks at the meister Ox leans slightly back, out of his personal space so Harvar is free to move in or out as he wants.

He doesn’t do either, doesn’t move at all except to tighten his hold on his arms from defensive to protective, turn his head so he’s not looking directly at the other boy. The silence drags long and heavy with self-consciousness; when Harvar sneaks a glance at him Ox looks like he’s prepared to wait forever, and Harvar  _knows_  the meister has more patience than he does.

“Fuck,” he finally blurts. “ _Fuck_.  _Yes_ , okay? I meant it then and I mean it now and I’ve been in love with you for months, now, like the fucking idiot I am.” His arms go slack, fall to his sides as he lets his chin drop down. “What else do you want to talk about?”

There is a beat of utter silence. Harvar can hear the deep breath Ox takes, the shake in the sound as he lets it out before he speaks again. “I don’t understand why.”

It’s not a question as much as a statement, but it makes Harvar laugh weakly, shrug helplessly. “I don’t understand either.”

Ox’s responsive laugh is louder, loud enough that it would be startling if Harvar wasn’t used to the echoing volume of the meister’s sincere amusement. “That’s not very kind to my self-confidence.”

“I’m not trying to stroke your ego,” Harvar snaps. “You  _asked_ , I’m  _telling_.” He brings his chin up to glare at Ox and the meister reaches out to touch his shoulder, tentatively, as if Harvar might shock him on purpose.

“Thank you,” Ox says, carefully formal with the words. “I appreciate it.”

Harvar huffs in exasperation, grabs Ox’s wrist to pull it off him. “You’re so weird, you don’t do  _anything_  right.” When he leans in it’s too fast and too hard, so his mouth doesn’t quite land on Ox’s and his teeth clip the other boy’s mouth, but Ox doesn’t pull back in spite of the impact, and with the time to adjust Harvar can fit their mouths together, find the perfect angle after a moment of struggle.

Ox waits for him.


End file.
